Page 36 of A Match Made in Coven (Paranormal Romance #2)

He didn’t reply. The detective’s dark gaze shifted from Sarah Michelle, scanning the room until it landed on Andromeda.

After the way he’d wrecked their sturdy front door, she could’ve lived without the attention.

But as they locked eyes for the first time, Andromeda felt pinned in place.

Spellbound. His eyes were mesmerizing. The darkest brown that seemed to contain entire universes of intensity as they assessed her with the calculation of a predator.

Heat bloomed across her cheeks as her pulse thrummed in places she’d rather not acknowledge.

Places that had no business responding to a man who’d blown up her front door.

Places that should remain dignified and guarded in the face of law enforcement, even if said law enforcement was a walking thirst trap.

And of course, the hottest man to ever violate her civil rights had to do so while she was as fashionable as a swamp hag in ratty leggings, an oversized, threadbare sweatshirt with ice cream stains, and with her wild blonde hair piled haphazardly on top of her head.

The detective frowned as if he too was taken aback by the intensity of the eye contact. His strong jaw set into a harder line, and something like confusion flickered across his features before his scowl deepened.

Andromeda silently wondered if it was too late to transfigure herself into a potted plant.

Or convince the earth to swallow her whole and leave nothing but her scrunchie behind.

Disappear through a portal? Any escape route would do as long as it meant not having to sit in front of the unfairly handsome detective while he x-rayed her.

“Excuse me.” Sarah Michelle snapped her fingers, breaking the tension as she stepped into his line of sight and blocked his view of Andromeda. “Besides losing your manners, did you also lose your tongue? What in the name of bleeding ghosts are you doing in my house?”

Andromeda mentally high-fived her roommate for stepping in.

“And on what authority did you demolish my front door? I’m pretty sure that’s not standard SMPD procedure.”

Malatesta’s gaze dragged away from Andromeda to face Sarah Michelle head-on. A crooked smirk tugged at his lips, both irritating and weirdly charming.

“My authority?” He chuckled, a dark velvet sound that did strange things to Andromeda’s insides. “Last time I checked, Callidora, I only need to justify SMPD business to my superiors—and that’s not you.”

Sarah Michelle’s body went rigid. “This is my home, not a crime scene, so you don’t get to barge in with no explanation.”

“Call it initiative.” Malatesta shrugged, unapologetic. “And as for justification…” He snapped his fingers, and a scroll materialized out of thin air, unfurling itself complete with gold tassels and the embossed seal of the Department of Magical Justice.

“Search and arrest warrant, signed by Judge Templeton,” Malatesta announced, satisfaction clear in his voice.

The document hovered between them, slowly rotating to show off its official stamps and signatures.

“Which would have been presented more conventionally if your wards hadn’t been set to fry anything magical that crossed your threshold. ”

Sarah Michelle snatched the floating document out of the air. “Our wards are standard-issue, not lethal. Stop being dramatic. Or are you taking back that cocky ‘cute little wards’ line?”

“If the wards were as standard as you claim, they wouldn’t have flared up like they sensed a demon when I tried to ring the bell. Not that it mattered—I got through just fine.”

“They’re sensitive to arrogance. You must’ve triggered a full-body reaction.”

“Anyway.” He ignored the jab. “The warrant isn’t for you, Callidora. I’m here to arrest an Andromeda Swan.” He peeked past Sarah Michelle. “I’m guessing the blonde hiding behind you on the couch?”

The room seemed to tilt sideways, and Andromeda’s stomach dropped as if she’d plunged off a broom at high altitude—something she’d unfortunately experienced in real life. He wanted to arrest her?

A moment ago, she wouldn’t have minded him slapping handcuffs on her—now she’d prefer to return that fantasy for a full refund. Thank you very much.

Chapter Two

Illegally Blonde

DONATELLO

In his career as a detective at Salem MPD, Donatello Malatesta had dealt with cursed artifacts, fire-breathing suspects, and once, a pissed-off mermaid with a mean grudge and a sharp harpoon.

None of that had prepared him for kicking in a door and finding two witches in pajamas, high on ice cream and delusionally saccharine TV, flanked by familiars with more attitude than half the department.

The hedgehog finished his dramatic flailing and puffed up like a toy soldier. “This is preposterous! Ms. Swan is a law-abiding witch of impeccable character. I demand to see that warrant.”

Donatello blinked. Was the little guy serious?

“I don’t have time for uptight rodents,” he said flatly.

“I beg your pardon?” The pompous hedgehog rose to his full, rather unimpressive height. “I am not a rodent. And I am not uptight!” the familiar squawked, every quill on his back sticking up. “I am merely possessed of proper decorum, something sorely lacking in present company.”

Donatello resisted the impulse to flick his wrist and politely launch the thing into a shoebox.

“He means you,” the other familiar, a ferret, chimed in, climbing on Callidora, his fellow detective and one of Salem MPD’s most competent investigators. The little furball perched on her shoulder. “I kind of agree with the cop on this one, Quill. You make Victorian schoolmarms look chill.”

The power structure between the witches and their creatures was unclear—and frankly, unsettling—but Donatello was already exhausted by the dynamic.

“Enough,” Sarah Michelle snapped, eyes still scanning the warrant. Her frown deepened as she read on. He couldn’t blame her. Callidora’s roommate was neck-high in dragon droppings. “This can’t be right,” she said.

“It is, black on white,” Donatello replied, voice sharpening as he turned back to the blonde. “Andromeda Swan, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…”

Amidst the increasingly loud protests from everyone, Donatello eyed the witch.

Andromeda Swan. Blonde. Angel faced. Legs for miles. Dresses in a frayed pajama top with zero bra involvement and a pair of nude leggings that hardly counted as clothing. Definitely distracting.

Since she clearly wasn’t coming over, Donatello rounded the couch to shackle her wrists behind her back. He powered through the Miranda warning, eyes locked firmly on her nape to avoid letting his gaze wander somewhere it had no business going.

Donatello kept his voice steady, but his patience was circling the drain. He’d secured the blonde witch—now cuffed and simmering with rage—and yet Callidora was determined to argue every inch of due process like it was a personal vendetta.

As her rapid-fire questions continued, he fought the urge to remind her he outranked her in this investigation, that the warrant in her hands was legitimate, and that her friendship with the suspect didn’t override protocol.

Instead, he exhaled through his nose and debated whether he could still fake a head injury and hand the whole mess off to Chief King.

“Nuh-uh.” Sarah Michelle planted herself between him and the door. “You can’t waltz in here, destroy my property, arrest my roommate, and then stonewall me. What’s the charge?”

“The warrant spells it out,” Donatello replied, keeping his voice level. “Murder in the first degree with malicious use of dark magic.”

“That’s absurd.” Sarah Michelle’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Andy couldn’t kill anyone. She cries when she has to swat a mosquito.”

“I don’t cry,” Andromeda protested. “I feel bad for like, a minute, and move on.”

Donatello ignored the blonde and kept his focus on Callidora. “The evidence says otherwise.”

“What evidence?” Sarah Michelle demanded.

“You know I can’t discuss an active investigation.”

“Detective,” the hedgehog interjected, sounding like a disgruntled English professor despite being approximately six inches tall, “may I remind you that Miss Swan not only has no criminal record but is a recognized contributor to the very institution you represent?”

“Great. Now also the rodent has opinions on procedure.” Donatello pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I am a hedgehog, sir. Not a rodent.” The creature puffed its quills. “And I demand—”

“You don’t get to demand anything.” Donatello cut him off. “And we’re outta here.”

He clicked his tongue twice—sharp and impatient.

“You’re not herding livestock, Malatesta,” Sarah Michelle bristled. “And she’s been with me all evening. She couldn’t have killed anyone.”

“Your vouching means toad-crap right now, Callidora.” Donatello was losing patience. “Your roommate’s magical signature was traced at a crime scene involving a level-three dark magic homicide. Judge Templeton doesn’t sign midnight warrants for fun.”

“Then let me come with you.” Sarah Michelle’s tone shifted from confrontational to measured. “As a fellow SMPD detective—”

“Who’s technically off duty and emotionally invested,” Donatello interrupted.

“I still have the right to observe.”

Donatello stared at her. She wasn’t wrong. The department regulations allowed for it. But having Callidora breathe down his neck while he booked the blonde was the last thing he wanted.

“Fine,” he relented. “You can ride along to the station. But keep your theories to yourself.”

The ferret chittered excitedly and darted down Callidora’s arm. “Should I grab my coat?”

“No.” Donatello pointed at the creature. “No familiars. Department policy.”

“That’s not a policy,” Sarah Michelle argued.

“It’s my policy. My backseat’s not a petting zoo.”

“Rude.” The ferret snickered.